


Backup Plans

by tsukinofaerii



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Friendship, Fuck You Jeff Davis, Gen, Nobody is Dead, Season 4 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-08
Updated: 2014-09-08
Packaged: 2018-02-16 16:29:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2276676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsukinofaerii/pseuds/tsukinofaerii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After finding the list in Stiles' pocket, Malia needs a friend. A friend with an open window.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Backup Plans

**Author's Note:**

> Literally this is so rushed out for the full moon. /o\ All of my other stuff is in editing hell. I'M SORRY.

_Malia Hale._

The name echoed through Malia's head as she stared up at her bedroom ceiling in the dark. It wasn't the worst part though. It was just a name. The questions, though. Those bothered her. Questions about who her parents were exactly. Why they gave her up. _Who knew_. They itched under her skin, made her claws tickle and her jawbones ache. She wanted to go into the woods and strip down to skin and fur and moonlight and run until she couldn't remember what a name was, much less what her own name was. 

Snarling, she flipped over and punched her pillow into submission. Usually when she was like this in the middle of the night, she'd go see Stiles. His bedroom window was always open, and it only had good memories. No fights, no guilt, no death. Just sex and studying and studying that led to sex. But right now her phone was off because he wouldn't stop texting or calling and begging forgiveness, and there was no way she could see Stiles without forgiving him. That was _so_ not happening.

She punched the pillow again, and again, and again, not bothering to pull her face from it. Still, the questions wouldn't shut up. 

Huffing, Malia swung herself out of bed and picked up her backpack. If she couldn't go to Stiles' house, there were other places she _could_ go. Not Kira's or Allison's—their parents were too well armed. The one time she'd tried to sneak into Allison's she'd almost gotten shot. And Erica was just _scary_. She used lipstick and a pushup bra the way Allison used a crossbow: as a deadly weapon. 

That still left one option: Lydia's.

* * *

Leaves crackled under Malia's feet, kicking out around her in a spray of noise and autumn scents. The Martin house was set back in the middle of nowhere, close to the edge of the woods and the lake. She cut through the woods to get to it so no one would think to question the girl wandering around barefoot in a night shirt. That had been a problem once. Luckily, the Sheriff had been on duty. It was probably better not to push her luck. 

A long wooden fence marked off the edge of the property. Malia paced it long enough to make sure there weren't any cameras or electrical lines. Then she tossed her bag over her shoulder, took a running leap and vaulted over. Her landing fumbled, but she managed to roll to her feet and keep trotting along without worse than a broken toe. The house was a dark lump, without even a porch light. She followed the scent of banshee around until she thought she had the right window. It was hard to be sure in the dark, but it _smelled_ right, which was most important. 

Doing her best to keep quiet, Malia scaled the wall, using a small overhang and a tree to climb without needing to sink in her claws. The window wasn't open, but it wasn't locked either. She hooked her claws under it and gently shoved it up, wincing at the scrape of the frame. 

Then she was in. 

In the bed, Lydia groaned and rolled over. She was mostly a piece of shadow, but Malia felt it when she opened her eyes and looked at her. Malia smiled hopefully, fidgeting with the strap of her backpack. After a few seconds Lydia heaved a sigh and lifted the edge of the blankets. 

Grateful, Malia dropped her bag and slid in. She curled into a tight ball, knees drawn up and shoulders hunched. Lydia curled up around her, twisting to try and slot them together. Their legs got in the way until Lydia made an annoyed sound and hooked Malia's ankles with her own. She dragged them down, then wiggled her way between like it was the most natural thing in the world. One of her arms slipped under Malia's neck and curved around to pet her hair. 

"Sorry," Malia muttered against Lydia's throat. There was still a trace of perfume there, a hint of dirt and ink and vanilla from books. It was a good scent. Soothing. Her thoughts quieted, questions fading into the comforting feeling of an arm around her and someone else's body heat. "I saw the list." 

The petting stopped. Malia held her breath until it started again. It was slower though, Lydia's fingers dragging through it like a comb. 

"I told them we should tell you," she mumbled against the top of Malia's head. Even half-asleep, her voice was sharp with exasperation. "We'll talk about it in the morning. Sleep now." 

Smiling, Malia closed her eyes and let the sound of Lydia's heart wash away her questions.

* * *

Come morning, Lydia was still asleep, tangled protectively around Malia. Over the course of the night, she'd edged up and Malia had edged down, until Malia was using Lydia's breasts as a face pillow. Like the rest of Lydia, they smelled good. Less perfume-y, more Lydia-y, with that hint of sweat and staleness that came from sleep. 

Malia drifted slowly awake to the feeling of eyes on her and the sound of a third heartbeat in the room. Grumbling, she turned her face to sniff the air, and then relaxed when she recognized the person as Mrs. Martin. Not a threat, then. Yawning, she twisted around and nuzzled her way in deeper, wiggling until she'd found an angle that blocked out the sun. It didn't take much. There was a lot of boob to hide in. 

Near the foot of the bed, Mrs. Martin made a noise that sounded a lot like choking. "Lydia, Malia," she called quietly. "Time to get up." 

Lydia let out an unhappy groan and twisted away, forcing Malia to follow until she was sprawled over her. She didn't _want_ to wake up. Waking up meant school, and school meant Stiles, and that was just not happening. 

" _Lydia. Malia._ " 

"I'm awake!" Like a doll on a spring, Lydia popped upright, flinging Malia out of her nest and to the mattress. "I'm— _we're_ awake."

Malia grumbled and twisted to flop onto her back. "Awake," she agreed, without actually making an attempt to sit up or open her eyes. 

"I can see you are. Malia, I didn't hear you come in last night." 

"I came in through the window." There was still something odd going on with Mrs. Martin's heart, a funny sort of skip that made Malia squint at her worriedly. She hoped she wasn't having a heart attack. That would suck. "Is that okay?" 

"It's..." Mrs. Martin smiled, but it wasn't a good smile. She smelled nervous. "Next time, why don't you use the door, all right?"

"This isn't what it looks like," Lydia thrust in, words sharp and short, like they were the most important thing that ever needed saying. "I swear, she just wanted a place to sleep." 

"I didn't say anything," Mrs. Martin said, still smiling. "Breakfast is ready whenever you two are. I'll drive you to school, and we can... talk." And then she'd slipped away, taking her unfunny smile and weird heartbeat with her. 

Malia frowned at the open door. "Your mom is weird."

Words formed in Lydia's mouth, shaping in little _ohs_ and _ahs_ , but all she said was, "Yeah. My mom is weird." Her shoulders rounded, and she curled forward to rest her forehead against her knees. They were bare, since Lydia was only wearing a camisole and matching panties, and just a shade or two lighter than the rest of her, but the way she curled up, the way she didn't have any makeup or jewelry on made all of her look pale and fragile. Like something Malia wanted to protect. 

At a loss, she petted Lydia's hair, since it had been so nice for her the night before. "It's a good sort of weird?" she offered hopefully. "I like her?" 

"I'm glad you do." She thought she saw Lydia smile against her knees, but when she looked up it was gone. "Do you want to talk about... you know. The list?" 

Malia considered that, continuing to pet Lydia's hair, letting the smooth flow of messy red curls between her fingers soothe her. "I'm mad that they didn't tell me," she finally decided, weighing the words as she said them. It was easier to sort out in the morning, with a good night of sleep and Lydia watching her non-judgmentally. "I'm mad because they took away being a coyote, and now they're taking away my family too, and I... I can't..." Her throat tightened, words coming slow but hard, in jagged little bursts. "I thought I could just pretend, but I _can't_ now. Not with Peter there. And Stiles was going to keep that from me. They all were."

Lydia watched her for a moment, then uncurled and slid an arm around her shoulders, pulling her down until Malia's cheek was on her shoulder again. "They're not taking away your family," she said softly. "Family doesn't go away just because there's no blood. You father is still your father." 

"No he's not," Malia bit out so sharply she nearly bit her own tongue. Damp spots started appearing on Lydia's hair, little splotches of darker red. "He's her father. He's—he wants the little girl he lost in a car crash. He won't want the monster that caused it."

"You can't pretend it's okay anymore," Lydia whispered, and Malia nodded against her, squeezing her eyes closed.

They stayed together silently for another few minutes, until Mrs. Martin started pointedly walking by the bedroom door and making noises about the time. Reluctantly, they rolled apart, Malia pulling out the emergency clothes she always kept stashed in her backpack. 

Clean underwear went on easily enough, even if Malia was still having trouble getting used to the bra. At the top, though, they ran into a problem. One look and Lydia swatted the wrinkled t-shirt out of her hands before she could put it on. "No."

Huffing, Malia glared at Lydia's back as she dug through her closet. "What's wrong with it?" 

"Everything. Wear this." Without looking, Lydia tossed a shirt over her head, which Malia dutifully snatched out of the air. 

She held it up for anything too obviously wrong and, when she couldn't find it, shrugged and slipped it on. It was a pretty light blue, and smelled like the chunk of cedar Lydia kept in her closet, along with the faintly floral scent of detergent and—most importantly—Lydia herself around the collar and armpits. It probably said something, though Malia couldn't be sure what, that Lydia looked at her sniffing the shirt and just rolled her eyes rather than objected. 

And then Lydia set her down and let her use the makeup she'd forgotten, loaned her a pair of earrings and didn't mind that she had to punch the holes again since they'd healed overnight. Brushed her hair for her and used the straightening iron to make it lay _just_ right. Malia closed her eyes and let herself be groomed and fussed over and surrounded by all the little feminine things that were _Lydia_. 

They were interrupted when Mrs. Martin knocked on the door again and poked her head in, eyes tightly shut. "If you don't come down soon you won't have time to eat." 

Lydia tugged gently on Malia's hair and clicked off the iron. "We were just coming."

Once more Lydia's mom vanished, but when Malia moved to follow, Lydia wrapped her arms around Malia's shoulders and rested her chin atop her head. The hair was still warm, brushing against her cheeks and neck. "Are you going to be alright today at school?" she asked quietly. "Stiles is going to be there." 

Biting her lip, Malia considered for a moment, then nodded. "And you." 

Against the top of her head, she felt Lydia smile, and her arms squeezed in a little hug. "And me." 

For the first time since she'd seen the list, Malia thought that maybe things would be okay.


End file.
